


Dr. Watson-Holmes

by Strange_johnlock



Series: Watson-Holmes [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Family, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, John Watson is a Good Boyfriend, John Watson is a Good Parent, John's POV, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mpreg, Parent-Child Relationship, Parentlock, Pregnancy, Romance, Sherlock is a Good Parent, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, they are just so happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-07-16 13:12:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16086821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_johnlock/pseuds/Strange_johnlock
Summary: “Well, Sherlock and I decided being friends doesn’t work for us. So, we’re dating now, and…” He pulls the picture from the scan from his wallet and places it on the table in front of her “We’re having a baby.”John's pov of 'Little Watson-Holmes'





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to my wonderful Amelia

Learning he will be a father for the second time comes as much as the surprise as the first time Sherlock told him at his own wedding. This time, the pregnancy is planned, in a weird way, but the announcement itself again comes out of the blue.

He felt so proud for being brave enough to finally ask Sherlock out, and the pregnancy announcement made everything even better.

At the scan a few weeks later, their baby is nothing more than light spots against a dark background. John looks at Rosie and thinks how she was the same, not even five years ago. Nothing but a blurry picture, and now she is a tiny person, stubborn and sweet and loving.

He imagines Sherlock’s and his child, all rebellious curls and pale skin, doing experiments and chasing butterflies in the park. He’s so excited he thinks he might burst. His average genes and Sherlock’s brilliant ones, their baby will be perfect. And Rosie will be a big sister. She’s already asking about the pregnancy every day. Sherlock luckily knows at least three pregnancy books by heart and is prepared for every of her questions. He rather seems to enjoy them, the little show off. It’s adorable.

* * *

 

The first person he tells is Harry, he hasn’t seen his sister in years. Their relationship has always been rocky, especially after the drama with Clara. She’s almost three years sober now and giving people second chances seems to be one of John’s many talents. With Harry it must be the fifth chance though. He just really hopes she won’t blow it again.

They meet in a small café. She’s already there sitting at a table by the window when he turns the corner. It’s scary sometimes how much they look alike, especially now that she’s  wearing her hair short again.

She smiles and hugs him, and he sits and smiles back. She looks five years younger, her skin is less grey.John has always loved her wide grin and the curly blond hair that made her look so much like their mother.   

“You look great, Johnny. I was so happy to hear from you. Clara says hi, by the way.”

John looks at her, notices the twinkle in her eyes. “You’re seeing Clara again then?” He takes a sip of the tea she ordered for him. She always does that.

“No, not like that. We’re living together, because I can’t afford something on my own. But we agreed that being together isn’t doing either of us any good. So yeah, being friends is  working for us at the moment.”

She takes his hand. “What about you? There must be something going on you needed to tell your big sister, else you wouldn’t have texted me.”

Harry leans back into her chair. It’s her turn to study him now, and her eyes are so much like their mother’s, he feels like a five-year-old boy again.

“Well, Sherlock and I decided being friends doesn’t work for us. So, we’re dating now, and…” He pulls the picture from the scan from his wallet and places it on the table in front of her “We’re having a baby.”

He’s never seen her this surprised, this happy for him, “You’re kidding. Really? That’s great.” She gets up to hug him and John let’s her. “Rosie must be huge by now.” Harry whispers, and John feels guilty because she’s never met his daughter. He texted her when Rosie was born, but he hadn’t invited her to meet the baby. Maybe subconsciously he had wanted to avoid having an alcoholic close to his child and that’s why he didn’t ask her to come over in the weeks and months after Rosie’s birth. And then, with the drama surrounding Mary’s death and Eurus, he never had the time to worry about his sister. He wants to change that, he realises. She’s still family, the alcohol doesn’t change that.

“She’s growing a bit every day. Too fast for my liking.” John strokes Harry’s back. “She’s a happy little nugget. Heart of gold.”

Harry chuckles, let’s go of him. “You sound so much like a dad, Johnny. Suits you.”

 

* * *

 

John’s been asleep for a short while, when he gets woken up by Sherlock crawling under the duvet. Even with his bump being relatively small, his sense of balance is a little off, so moving graceful and silent like a cat has become more difficult. John would never tell him that, of course. He doesn’t have a death wish.

“Good, you’re awake. I would have hated to have to wake you up, just so we could have sex.”

“Good thing I’m awake, or I would have missed you being romantic.” John chuckles.

“This is not about romance, John. It’s about sexual intercourse.” He feels Sherlock rolling to his side. Their legs are touching.

“The two are connected, Sherlock.”

“For you they are.” Sherlock rolls onto him and starts kissing his neck and chin.

“Yes, very much so.” John strokes his hair, soft and unruly.

“Is it acceptable for me to do my research on romance after we fuck, or should I go and do that now?” Sherlock shoves his robe off his shoulders to reveal he is naked underneath. John chuckles and moans at the same time.

“You can do it later.” John kisses him, deep and rough. After only a few weeks of being together, he can’t imagine what not being able to touch him feels like anymore. He pulls back, finds Sherlock’s eyes in the dark. “But you don’t have to, you know. I don’t want you to change for my sake. And you telling me you want me right here, right now, turns me on a LOT”

Sherlock’s laughter vibrates through his body, sends shivers down John’s spine. They kiss, hands roaming over naked skin and rumbled up shirts.

“What a pity.” Sherlock pulls back suddenly, leaving John surprised.

“What..”

“You being turned on and us not being able to use that very handsome erection of yours for something good, right now, because our daughter just got out of bed and we have approximately two minutes before she will come barging down here.”

He throws his head back into the pillows. “I’m voting for a regular date night once a week. Mrs. Hudson or Molly will babysit for us, I’m sure of it.”

“Sex night. How romantic.” Sherlock chuckles and sits up. “I’ll play the violin for her, so she can fall asleep. Then you have a duty to fulfil for your pregnant boyfriend.”

John can barely hold himself back from grabbing Sherlock and pulling him back to bed.

 

* * *

 

“How do you do it? I mean, I love the bastard, but he must be even more stubborn and rude with all those pregnancy hormones.” Greg hands him a cup of horrible NSY coffee. They have been at the crime scene for over an hour now, and Sherlock is still crouching over the body. He hasn’t moved in more than five minutes

They haven’t told anyone at the Yard about the baby yet, but Greg is a friend, and a good DI at that.

“Well, I’m desperately in love with him, for one. And he is very annoying and rude most of the time, so I’m used to it.” John takes a sip of the coffee.

Greg chuckles. “You’re besotted, the both of you.”

John smiles, looks over to his man. “Is it that obvious?”

“I’ve known for years, actually. But neither of you like being told things about yourselves, so you needed to figure it out yourselves. Glad you did, mate.”

John licks his lips, smiles. “You and me, both.”

They watch Sherlock in silence for a while, as he finds more clues. While neither of them knows anything, the consulting detective has probably figured it out already.

“Not a suicide, as I said. I need to talk to the brother.” Sherlock stomps off, leaving them behind.

“I can’t wait for the day when he’s too big to just run away from me.” John sighs and follows his mad man.

 

* * *

 

He returns from work to find Sherlock and Rosie in the living room. Rosie is sitting of Sherlock’s hips, as they walk up and down the  room. She has her small arms wrapped around his neck and her blonde head resting against his neck. Sherlock is dressed in his suit and he looks a little uncomfortable, because he has to carry both a four-year-old and a seven-month pregnant belly around.

John can’t stop watching them, arms crossed in front of his body. He listens to the song Sherlock is singing, and Rosie’s snuffling against the detective’s neck.

“Three days sunshine, three days rain, little knee all well again.” Sherlock sings, his voice low and calming, soothing.

“Daddy. I want my Daddy.” Rosie cries and John’s heart breaks a little.

“He’ll be … oh, look, there he is.” Sherlock looks up, with a sad smile and Rosie turns her head, reaches out for him immediately. Stepping closer, he takes her from Sherlock and holds her to his chest. She snuffles and buries her face against his neck.

“Oh baby, what happened?” He makes hushing noises and rocks her, lips pressing against her temple.

“She hit her knee on the table.” Sherlock looks as hurt as Rosie, eyes worried. John knows exactly how he feels. When Rosie was little, he never felt enough. She always wanted her Mommy to calm her down, not him. It didn’t mean she loved him less, he had known that even then, but it still had made him feel left out. Sherlock is feeling the same way right now, he knows, and there is nothing he can do. John knows Sherlock knows. They know each other that well.

The detective steps back to give them some space, but Rosie ‘s crying again. “No, Papa. Stay.” She whispers, and Sherlock is there in an instant, large hand covering her back. “I’m here.” He says, and his voice is so soft, John wants to kiss him.

Later, when they are in bed, hurt knee long forgotten, John watches Sherlock smile at the ceiling. He doesn’t need to ask for Sherlock to tell him what the smiling is about.

“She called be Papa for the first time.”

 

* * *

 

Sherlock is sitting in his armchair, hands steepled under his chin and John is sitting on the floor in front of him, cheek against Sherlock’s belly. It’s a thinking pose for them both. Sherlock is solving some cold case Lestrade got for him. John, on the other hand, is thinking about baby names. He has a few he likes, both female and male, but he isn’t sure about any of them yet. It really is hard to decide on letters and syllables that will accompany a human being for the rest of his or her life.

He wants something that fits in with their names, something that is special like Sherlock, but easy to remember, like John.

His hands stroke his over Sherlock’s belly, slow circles over naked skin. Sherlock doesn’t even complain when he opens the last three buttons of his shirt.

“Okay, little one. We are approaching this differently, now. I’m going to say the ABC, and if you like a letter, then you kick. At least I have something to start with, then.”

Sherlock huffs, but doesn’t say anything, and John knows he secretly finds it endearing.

He starts at A, and after every letter presses a kiss to Sherlocks navel. He can feel the movement of little Watson-Holmes against his hands, but there are no kicks yet.

“Q. Please not that one.” Kiss. “R” Kiss. “S. We’re going to run out of letters soon, love.” Kiss. “T.”

The baby kicks him right in the nose when he leans in for the next kiss.

Both he and Sherlock flinch in discomfort but start giggling the moment after.

“Thank you, love. That makes my job a lot easier.” John whispers, and this time he kisses Sherlock’s mouth.

“Q would at least have been a challenge.” Sherlock grins against his mouth.

 

* * *

 

John has done something very midlife-crisis. He passed a hair salon on his way back rom work, like he does every day, and just walked in. For the first ten minutes after, he felt very good about his little makeover, but now, as he is walking up the stairs to the flat, he is anxious about Sherlock’s reaction. He knows why he did it, of course. So will Sherlock the moment he sees him.

John nervously licks his lips, then opens the door. Better get it over with as soon as possible. “I’m home.” He greets, expecting to be almost toppled over by an excited toddler. Rosie doesn’t disappoint. She squeals a “Daddy” and comes running towards him, hugging his legs, before he picks her up. She doesn’t notice, is too excited about some new book Mrs. Hudson bought her. Maybe, the change is more subtle than he thinks. Not subtle enough for Sherlock Holmes, of course.

He can her the detective in the kitchen, the sound of cutlery clinking buys him a few more minutes. He listens to Rosie rambling about the book, while trying to take off his coat, and holding his daughter at the same time. He’s a doctor, multitasking isn’t a problem. Still, his shoulder protests slightly, when he shifts her weight from one arm to the other. Old man, he thinks.

John lets Rosie down head first, because she wants to help him open his shoe laces. It has to be uncomfortable for her, him grabbing her ankles, but she giggles.

“John, what are you doing to our child?” Sherlock’s voice says with mock annoyance. John can hear his steps getting closer.

“Training her for the circus.” He calls back. It’s obvious that he is nervous, and he avoids looking at Sherlock, pretending to be concentrated on what Rosie is currently doing.

“Down, Daddy.” She squeals, one lace successfully opened, and he does so, carefully.

Rosie giggles, then sits on the floor to work on his other shoe. He lets her, only now raising his eyes to Sherlock’s.

The detective has stopped in his tracks and is staring at him.

“Oh.” He says, in surprise. “This is about the man at the pub, isn’t it?”

John smiles at his genius man. Only one look was enough for him to know.

“He tried to talk to me, flirt even. And when you went to the loo, and came back, you seemed less confident than usual. You probably looked into the mirror and thought an old man was looking back at you. Which is ridiculous.” Sherlock takes the last step, and, being mindful of Rosie, weaves his fingers through John’s newly dyed hair.

“It’s ridiculous, because I didn’t even realize that guy was flirting with me. I didn’t notice you flirting with me for years, and I was, still am, very much in love with you. So, aside from him being an idiot for flirting with a pregnant man almost twice his age, I think you are very handsome the way you are… Daddy.” Sherlock raises an eyebrow, and that’s what does it. John start giggling, relieved.

“I know it was stupid. Jealousy always is. But I just saw wrinkles and grey hair and I … The wrinkles are very difficult to get rid of, so I did this.” He points vaguely at his hair, which is now roughly the colour it had been five years ago, a dirty blond. It’s nothing big, but for a moment it made him feel younger. More attractive for his gorgeous detective.

Sherlock leans in to kiss his forehead. “I don’t care about your hair colour, John. If it makes you feel better, continue dyeing it. I understand. I’m a very vain man myself and will probably dye it, when I get all grey in a few years.”

John Watson, he thinks, you are a lucky man.

 

* * *

 

“Daddy?” Rosie looks up from the drawing she’s doing. John is in the kitchen, doing the dishes, sleeves rolled up. He turns a little, so he’s able to see her, but continues what he is doing. “Will you love the baby more than me?”

Somehow, he has expected the question. He has wondered about this as well. Not that he was afraid he would just start loving her less, but he feels guilty for bringing another child into the family, because it means she will no longer be the baby. And they might be able to distribute their love equally, but for the first few months, more of their time will be dedicated to little Watson-Holmes. Rosie will be the one to suffer, and she’s clever enough to know.

John puts down the plate he has been cleaning and dries off his hands. He sits with her. This conversation is all he wants to focus on. He thought about how to tell her, how to make her realize he could never love anyone more than her, but that he would just love the baby the same. It’s hard, because he can’t really process the feelings himself. Rosie is her own little person now, and at the moment the only thing he has of little Watson-Holmes is blurry pictures and the kicks he can feel when he places his hands on Sherlock’s belly. The love for him or her is already there.

“Rosamund.” He only calls her by her full name when he’s angry with her, or needs her to listen carefully.

She looks up at him, with big eyes.

“You know I love you so much. And I…” he stops, reaches out for her. She crawls onto his lap. In the end, it’s easy. He finds a comparison that should be appropriate for a four-year-old, or so he hopes. “Let me start over. You know, how you love Papa and me the same?”

She nods emphatically.

“How Papa and I are very different, and we do different things together, but that’s okay, you still love us?”

Another nod.

“Papa and I need to do different things with the baby, because it will be so small, then we need to do with you. But that doesn’t mean we love you less, or that we love the baby more. We will love both of you the same. Always.”

She nods, head against his chest.

“And when your brother or sister is older, we can all play together, and cuddle, and read books. If you ever feel like we love the baby more, I need you to come and talk to Papa or me, okay? So we can talk about it. Because we are a family and we can always talk.”

He isn’t sure she understands quite yet, she is only four. But then, it’s important  for her to know he will always be there. Never again will he make neighbours and friends look after her like he did after Mary died. She deserves him to do his very best to make her happy, even though he knows he’s far from perfect.

“I need to finish my drawing for the baby now, Daddy.” Rosie climbs off his lap and sits at the table. That’s the end of that conversation, John thinks. It could have gone worse.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock is the strongest man John knows. While John tries to be there for him, hold his hand, whisper sweet nothings, Sherlock endures hours of pain. John is impressed how calm he is, how he is joking with the nurses in the hours of early labour. He probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

And then, when it’s time to push, Sherlock gives all his strength for their baby. It’s both beautiful and unbearable to watch. John feels helpless, like he can’t do enough to help the love of his life in his suffering.

“Your gorgeous cock is not allowed in any proximity to my anal cavity ever again, John Watson.” Sherlock states at some point, and he winks. John giggles. He kisses Sherlock’s cheek, a big part of the tension leaving his body.

“Thank you.” He whispers. “I’ll tell him.”

And then Sherlock’s body goes through the next contraction. He squeezes John’s hand and follows the midwife’s instructions to push.

  


John holds his son for the first time. He can’t believe how small he is, how beautiful. The ‘new baby smell’ is addictive, and John kisses the top of Tristan’s head over and over again. After the struggle of a fourteen-hour labour, he has managed to doze off a bit. Watching the little one sleep had been very calming. Now, Tristan moves his tiny arm, as he stretches in his sleep and John kisses the small fingers. He is overwhelmed, happy, tired. When his son’s eyes open, John looks into galaxies, blue and deep, and John gets lost.

“We made him. Can you believe we made him?” John tears his eyes from their son to look at Sherlock, to find him asleep, hands resting on his now empty belly. The strongest man he has ever known, even as he looks exhausted and small in the large hospital bed.

“Hello, little man.” He traces the shape of Tristan’s button nose. “Your Papa over there is the strongest and wisest man the both of us will ever know. He’s also very kind, and loving, even though he doesn’t want people to know. You and I know, and Rosie knows.”

John smiles down at Tristan, and there is an understanding in his eyes he must be imagining.

 

* * *

 

Harry’s death breaks his heart.

Their meeting months ago hasn’t suddenly fixed all their problems, but she is his big sister and he loves her, deeply. He’s angry at the world, for taking her life after she finally got sober. She finally was fixing her life, fixing things with Clara. Now, she’s dead, years of consuming too much alcohol destroying her liver.

Sherlock arriving with Rosie and Tristan is a relief. In Sherlock’s arms is where he allows himself to cry for the first time. John knows finding his way into parenthood is hard on Sherlock. He struggles with breastfeeding, which, in all his beauty, hurts. Also, after the birth, even the world’s consulting detective needs sleep, which Tristan doesn’t allow. John tries to help. They found a routine of both getting up, so after nursing John can change the little ones diaper and lulls him back to sleep. Still, it leaves Sherlock with the feeling of not being enough, sometimes. And it irritates him, because in his big, genius brain he knows it is an irrational thought to have. Most books about parenthood are honest enough to mention the rollercoaster of emotion, but that doesn’t really prepare you for anything.

Now, with John in grief, he can’t support Sherlock the way he wants too. Sherlock coming here, being there, is one more proof of how much John is loved. Not that he needed more proof.

“I knew I would lose her one day. Since I was about twenty, I knew. Doesn’t make it easier. Didn’t prepare me for it.” He mumbles against Sherlock’s neck.

He feels Sherlock’s mouth against the top of his head, warm breath and whispered words. “I don’t know the words appropriate for me to say in this situation, John.”

“Just hold me.” John says. “It’s good that you are here.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, I have the best beta Reader in the world. :D Thank you, again

John wakes up in an empty bed. The mattress is still warm next to him, and he turns to breathe in the scent of Sherlock for a moment.

The light in the living room is on and he follows it, stopping just behind his armchair. Sherlock is wrapped in his favourite blue dressing gown, which hangs from his left shoulder. John must have seen him nurse Tristan  a hundred times by now, but somehow tonight the sight makes him emotional. When he met the detective, he had insisted on being a sociopath, a man above all feeling. Now, that same man was holding their child, his body producing all the nutrients Tristan needed to survive. He did it with so much love in his eyes and John couldn’t hold back a single happy tear running down his cheek.

Sherlock’s skin was glowing in the dim light coming from one single lamp close by the mantle. John wanted to run his hands over every square inch of it, so Sherlock would know just how beautiful he looked feeding their child. John loved him, more than he could ever put it into words.

“I thought I’d relieve you of nappy duty for tonight and let you sleep.” Sherlock didn’t look up from where Tristan was latched onto him, tiny fists grabbing the skin of his chest, but there was a smile playing around his mouth. A tired, soft smile. John put his hands on the back of his chair and grinned back.

“Apparently my body is very used to nappy duty.” He walks towards them slowly and gets into a kneeling position. He often sat on the floor in front of Sherlock’s chair when his partner was pregnant to rest his face against the bump. Now, he lifts up the bathrobe a little and presses his face against the now empty belly, his forehead touching Tristan’s back.

“I can’t imagine my life without him anymore. He’s only been here for two months and I barely remember what it was like not being a parent. I felt the same about Rosie, of course, but I imagined it would be less overwhelming the second time around.” John whispers against warm skin. “Meeting him, holding him for the first time, was like meeting the love of my life. 

John knows he’s rambling. Sherlock, one hand in his hair now, doesn’t seem to mind. “She asked me, if I would love the new baby more, you know. Rosie is a clever child. I tried to explain, how that would never happen, but I don’t know how it works. I don’t know how we are able to  love so much more than we thought ourselves capable.”

“I thought I was the only one being overwhelmed.” Sherlock’s voice was quiet. “I figured that ignoring feelings for most of my life just made it hard for me to understand. It’s good to know you feel the same.” Sherlock’s hand continues to draw circles onto john’s scalp, then moves away to change Tristan’s position. “He’s asleep. We probably bored him with our sentiment.”

A giggle escaped John’s throat and he looked up at his boys. “Nappy duty.” He gets to his feet and takes the baby from Sherlock. He rests his fingers against the detective’s cheek. “You’re tired. Go back to bed, love. I‘ll get the little one back to bed.”

He kisses him softly and for a moment, he forgets how tired and overwhelmed he is. For a moment, their life is perfect.

* * *

 

John can’t stop looking at his hand. He tries to but catches himself staring at his ring every five minutes. It fits perfectly, of course. Sherlock  probably took measurements while John slept. And now, the silver band is ever present on his finger, and somehow it feels like it always been there. He’s wearing it on his right hand, on a finger no other ring has ever been on, a fact that Sherlock considered, before John had.

“Dr. Watson!”

He looks up, to find Sarah standing in the doorway.

“Huh?” John looks up at her, to find her smiling.

“I called your name four times already.” Sarah steps into the room. “Mrs. Leyster is waiting for you.”

John felt the heat rise in his cheeks. “Sorry, I… I just still can’t believe it. I mean, Sherlock bloody Holmes asked me to marry him. He planned it for days, flowers and all, got the kids involved. And I mean, if you think about it, the ashtray was the first gesture between us you could consider romantic, even if I didn’t get it back then.”

The grin on her face widens, he’s thankful for their friendship, that has been on the back burner for years, and is just now. He can talk openly with her, and she knows the dynamic between Sherlock and him.

“I know, John. You told me, twice. I’m very happy for you.” She pets his shoulder. “Now, you besotted man, will you be able to work today?”

“Yes. Yes, I will. Sorry. I’m behaving like a complete nutter. It’s just, I thought about asking him. It makes sense, we have children, and we are both sure we want to spend our lives together. And then I thought, I could never surprise him with a proposal. He would find out, deduce I have the jewellery box in my pocket or something. And then he just did it.” At least, this time John gets his desk in order while talking.

“It’s  worse than I thought. You should see a doctor.” Sarah chuckles, before being kind enough to go and help his patient find the way to his office.

“There you go, Mrs. Leyster. Dr. Watson-Holmes will see you now.” She smirks at him behind the old lady.

That’s it, John thinks, that who he wants to be. Dr. John Hamish Watson-Holmes.

* * *

 

The doctor slips and calls the baby a she during their third scan. John, who is too concentrated on the movements on the screen, only realizes when he hears Sherlock gasp. This baby is full of surprises, from the first moment on.

John never expected they would have another child, not at their age. Sherlock had just turned forty-three two weeks after they had done the test. A risky pregnancy, but the little one is healthy and happy, so far. The test results are all more than satisfactory, both the one the doctors did and the one Sherlock conducted himself.

The next surprise, after finding out they are expecting, is the belly. With Tristan, Sherlock barely showed until the last trimester, this  pregnancy is very noticeable, even though little Watson-Holmes 2.0 has only been in there for four months. John thinks it suits Sherlock very well though, and Sherlock has admitted to loving his bump as much as he did the first time around. 

Five. Their baby girl is going to make them a family of five.

They had again agreed they didn’t want to know the sex of their baby. It’s too late for that now.

“A little girl.” Sherlock whispers in awe and John has tears in his eyes. Seeing their reaction, Doctor Garcia holds back on her apologies as to not ruin the moment. She  smiles and says her goodbyes to give them some space.

“Rosie was right, then. She guessed she would have a little sister.” 

“She’s my daughter, and therefore a genius.” Sherlock states, and John knows he’s trying to sound  sarcastic to hide his emotions. He lets him, because he’s bullocks at expressing his feelings as well. 

John helps Sherlock sit up and cups his beautiful face in his hands to kiss him. And Sherlock, his genius, understands.

* * *

 

“John bloody Watson.”

John is sitting on a bench in regent’s park and it feels a little bit like a Deja-vu. It is a different voice, but still a voice from his past calling his name. He looks up, to find a tall, bearded man walking up to him. Bill Murray hasn’t changed much over the years, except for a few wrinkles and slightly longer, more grey hair. They had briefly been in contact when Bill had come back from Afghanistan, but then the Magnusson situation happened and John had stopped answering his emails.

“Murray.” John jumps to his feet, and was immediately enveloped in a warm hug. Bill clapped his large hands against John's back briefly, then pulled away abruptly, letting his piercing eyes roam over John's face for a moment before taking a step back..

“Three continents Watson, you bastard.”

John chuckled. “More like three babies Watson now.” He corrects. “Good to see you, mate.”

“Three? You horny, old man. Who have you been busy shagging?”

“That would be me.” A familiar baritone says. It’s date night, and Sherlock has an activity planned.  John hadn’t seen him walking up to them

“If that isn’t the famous Sherlock Holmes.” Bill turns around with a wide grin. “You look good.”

“Wait, you know each other?”

“Yeah, I met the man in Afghanistan. Had a little less hair back then, and that horrible beard. But I recognized him, of course. Wasn’t allowed to tell anyone, though. Even got a call from his creepy big brother.”

Sherlock is standing next to John now, and they greet each other with a quick kiss. “During my time away, I spend some time in the war zone to find a man called Sebastian Moran. I wasn’t aware that this was the same Bill you told me about before. It’s a quite common name.”

“And a quite uncommon man.” Bill barks out with laughter. “So, Sherlock, has the old man been treating you well? No need to answer that, I can see. It’s true what they say about pregnant people, you’re glowing Sherlock.” He states with a wink

John had always liked Bill. He was loud, and funny, but more importantly, in dangerous situations John had always been able to rely on him.

“I’m sorry, laddies, but I got to dash. We should meet up for dinner someday. The hubby would sure love to meet you.”

“Husband? You’re gay?” John regretted the question as soon as he asks. Fortunately, Bill isn’t one to ever be offended. He just laughs.

“I literally sucked your cock in Afghanistan, John.”

John blushes at that, especially because Bill’s voice travels far and Sherlock isn’t the only one who hears, judging by the strange looks they get from passing couples. As if the fact that Bill just told his future husband about their short tryst in an army bunker wasn’t embarrassing enough.  He’s not ashamed of it, but still, not everyone in Regents Park needs to know.

“I thought that was all because of the lack of women.” John clears his throat, avoids looking at his fiancé, or even worse, Bill.

“Oh John, you’ve always been so oblivious. Well, anyway, I really have to go. I’ll see you, guys.”

With that, he’s gone, whistling as he walks away.

John feels Sherlock taking his hand, intertwining their fingers. “I didn’t know Bill Murray would be your type.” The detective chuckles, and John turns to hide his face against Sherlock’s shoulder. He knows his face is burning red, so are his ears.

* * *

 

****

_ Note: This chapter was hard for me to write because I myself lost a parent at a way too young age. If you went through something similar, maybe it would be best to skip this part. _

They are days away from moving when Rosie, who has come to their bed in the early morning hours, asks him, her voice tiny. Her hair is sleep ruffled and she is wearing the most adorable pair of pyjamas. Her large eyes look up at him from where she is laying between him and Sherlock.

“Can we visit Mummy?”

John has to admit to himself that he hasn’t been to Mary’s grave with her enough, partly because the pain of seeing her name carved into stone is still real. He loved her, still does in a way. It hurts him that Rosie will never have real memories of her mother except from the stories John and Sherlock tell her and the few pictures they have of Mary and her.

“Because when we move Mummy will be really far away. And then we won’t be able to  visit her often.” Rosie rubs at her eyes and John can’t help but hug her to him tightly.

“Of course, we can. How about we make today just about you and me? We can visit Mummy and then maybe go eat something.” John looks at Sherlock, still sleeping next to him. The detective hasn’t gotten a lot of sleep, even though Tristan has settled into a regular sleep schedule at around seven months old, their unborn daughter, however,  is very active, and he needs the loo at least five times during the night. Some alone time would do him good.

So, after breakfast john drops Tristan off with Mrs. Hudson, who is very excited to spend time with her grandchild. Then, he and Rosie buy flowers for Mary. Rosie picks a bouquet that was is more suitable for a birthday, but she likes it and that’s what matters. They take the tube and walk up to the grave. Rosie puts the flowers next to the headstone and then  sits in the grass next to it.

“Hello Mummy.” She says, and John already has to bite back tears. “Daddy and Papa and Tristan and I are going to another house, because our house is too small. Papa has a baby in his belly and I don’t think I can share my room with two babies.” Rosie follows the patterns in the stone with her little finger. “And we have a garden there and maybe we can have a dog. Papa likes dogs and when Papa likes something Daddy likes it too. Because they are in love. Nana Hudson explains that to me.”

John sits down next to her, strokes her hair. It doesn’t matter that the old women three graves over is looking at them, or that the ground is still a little wet from when it rained this morning. This is their moment.

“I miss Nana Hudson. She always makes biscuits because Daddy and Papa can’t bake. But I learn, so I can make biscuits. Nana says she visit us in Suss…Suss…”

“Sussex. And yes, she will visit us, and we will visit her.” John kisses the top of her head.

“Yes. I can’t say the word. It’s a weird word. Tristan will have a really cool room in the new house, but mine is bigger. Grandpa says he will pain me some new bees on my wall. I like bees. Papa has a book about bees and he reads it to me before bed sometimes.”

Rosie continues talking, telling Mary about all the things that have happened to her in the last weeks and mostly about the move. John spills a tear or two. He has wondered about what their life could have been, of course. How soon would he have cheated on her? Would he have admitted to himself that he loved Mary, but not enough, that he loved Sherlock more? Would he, caught in a marriage that didn’t make him happy, have been brave enough to allowed himself to be with Sherlock, or would he have remained a coward and stayed with Mary? Told himself it was for Rosie’s sake?

John wishes she hadn’t died, but he can’t for a second, regret his life with Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes is more than John Watson ever deserved. And John will do anything to make him happy for the rest of their lives. He’ll promise that in front of all their friends and family in less than three weeks. And this time, he’ll mean it. With all his heart.

Rosie’s small fingers touch his cheek. “Why are you crying, Daddy? Did I say something wrong?” John hugs her tight. “No, you said wonderful things. It’s just that your Mummy gave me something very important. Someone I love very much.” He kisses her forehead. “She gave me you and made me the luckiest man alive.”

“Papa says emotion is very complicated and weird. He says he cried too when Tristan came out of his belly, but he was very happy.”

“Your Papa is a wise man. And yes, having feelings can be complicated when you are an adult.”

John pets her hair, holds her close to his chest.

 

When they sit in a café and Rosie is having ice cream, John gets a text from Sherlock. Attached is a picture of Tristan sitting on the living room floor with his blocks.

**I missed him. SH**

**This pregnancy does very complex things to my hormones. SH**

**I will have to do research on this once Tristan is napping. SH**

John smiled at his sentimental mad man, and quickly texted back.

_ We miss you too, already. I suggest take away and Disney movies for tonight. _

**Enjoy your one-on-one time with Rosie. You both need it. Take away can wait. SH**

**She’ll enjoy the Natural History museum. SH**

_ Sure, she will. I’ll see you tonight. I love you. _

**As do I. SH**

* * *

 

John’s first night in the new house isn’t too good. He is so used to the traffic noise and police sirens of London, and now the only sound outside are the crickets. He gets up at 1 am, because Tristan is crying. He goes downstairs to the living room. The moon is almost full, and John watches it while he sings and rocks the baby back to sleep. Tristan is getting heavy. He has grown so much over the past months, and soon he won’t be their small baby anymore.

John returns to bed almost sixty minutes later, to find Rosie has taken up most of his half of the bed. He wraps himself around Sherlock’s back, hand on his baby belly, and manages a few more hours of sleep.

“John?”

“Hhm?”

“We haven’t had sex in the new house yet.”

John slowly opens his eyes. They have switched positions in their sleep, Sherlock now wrapped around John as much as possible with a seven-month bump. His mouth is right next to John’s ear.

“You don’t need to find reasons, love.” John mumbles, carefully turning around to kiss his finance.

“What gives you the impression I’m looking for reasons” Sherlock looks offended, which makes John chuckle.

“Because you said ‘This is the last time we will make love in our old flat, John’ five times over the last week.”

“Still, you only had sex with me two times.” Now, Sherlock is in full pouting mode and John has to kiss that gorgeous mouth.

“Because we have two and a half children. What I’m trying to say, love of my life, is, that I’ll gladly have sex with you right now, and it has nothing to do with the house.”

“Good.” Sherlock looks suddenly smug. He turns to get up. “I need the loo. I’ll meet you in the living room in ten.” Before John can wonder about why, Rosie kicks him in the back in her sleep.

 

John presses his lips to Sherlock’s sweaty brow. They have rearranged their clothing, just in case, and hold on to each other. Outside, the sun is just setting, and Sherlock’s skin is glowing beautifully in the gold and pink light.

“Do you think we did the right thing by moving here?” Sherlock takes John’s hand to intertwine their fingers.

“Yes, I think so. I mean, I’m in love with the house. Rosie and Tristan and our little whirlwind in there will have a good childhood here, find friends, spend time in nature.”

He feels Sherlock nod. “How about you? There’s no adventure here. Adventure is why you chose to be my friend in the first place, in a way, it’s what started all of this, us.”

John kisses his forehead. His hand strokes up and down Sherlock’s back under the rumpled-up T-shirt. “I chose to be your friend, because you have a genius brain and a kind heart, even though you tried to hide that for a long time. I chose to be your friend because I knew from the first moment that life with you could never be boring. I don’t care that we don’t chase criminals anymore. Our family is the new big adventure and I’ll never get enough of that.”

The smile on Sherlock’s face is so small, so beautifully honest, John has to kiss it away and make it his own.

“Sometimes I wonder, and yes, I am aware how ridiculous it is, what the younger version of me would think if he knew he would become a stay at home parent of three, living in a cottage close to Brighton. I thought I’d never even reach forty at one point.”

“He probably wouldn’t believe you.” John trails kisses over Sherlock’s face. “You being a parent doesn’t mean you aren’t Sherlock Holmes anymore. You are still brilliant, annoying and ridiculously posh. And the new house has the small advantage that you have your own little lab, so, you can still experiment. And you can still go to London in less than two hours, if you need to.”

“Yes, I think I can manage both. I can be a parent and Sherlock Holmes.”

“You can be anything, if it makes you happy.”

“And we are happy.” Sherlock says with conviction.

“We are. Very happy.” John agrees.

* * *

 

“You are just as much as a drama queen as your Papa.” John chuckles but picks up Tristan anyway to comfort him. Little Watson-Holmes has just made two steps, before he lost balance and landed on his bum. Now he is crying, large eyes wet and mouth in a pout.

“It’s alright, baby. You did so well. Two steps is amazing.” He kisses auburn curls and places Tristan on the floor again. “Let’s try again, okay?”

Tristan wobbles forward and starts giggling, when Rosie reaches her arms out for him to help. John wants to interfere, tell her Tristan has to learn to walk alone, but then he never wants to suggest to Rosie that helping her little brother could be unwanted behaviour. He watches, as they take one step after another across the living room floor.

John is sitting with his back against his armchair on what must be the fluffiest ruck in the world. He has spent almost all of his time between unpacking boxes here, union jack pillow supporting his back, he is, after all, getting older..

He doesn’t realise it at first, but Tristan has let go of Rosie’s hand and wobbles towards him, legs shaky, but with a determined face. John reaches out for him and then Tristan lets himself fall in his arms, after having made five whole steps all on his own.

John doesn’t know who is more excited, Tristan or himself. They both giggle at each other John lifts him up and smothers him with kisses. “Sherlock?” he calls to the kitchen.

“I saw.” Sherlock’s voice is closer than he expected, and John turns to see him standing in the doorway. “Very impressive, Tristan.”

“I can walk too.” Rosie insists and starts walking in a straight line at the edge of the rug, arms above her head like a ballet dancer.

“It seems like all of our children are geniuses. Elouise is very good at kicking me in the bladder.” Sherlock cups his belly with his right arm.

Elouise. Their daughter’s name still sounds so new. They picked it a few days ago and fell in love immediately. Sherlock’s grandmother on his father’s side was called Marié Elouise.

“Papapap.” Tristan reaches out for Sherlock and John puts him on the floor. This time, he is fast enough to pull his phone from his pocket and press record.

“Papapapapapapap.” Sherlock tries to be graceful as he sits down to catch him.

John is so proud of the little one. Milestones like this is why he is glad he’s not back to work yet.

 

* * *

 

 

Greg arrived on Friday to help them with last minute preparations. They hung some lanterns in and around the tent, got the tables ready and put out chairs on the garden for the guests to sit on during the ceremony.

Not being bride and groom, John and Sherlock had both spent the night in their shared bed. They went their separate ways after breakfast to get dressed. Sherlock had taken John to his tailor and they had found the perfect suit for him, elegant, but still very John with it’s red and black cardigan, white shirt and blue tie. At first, John thought it might be too comfortable for a wedding. Now, as he buttons up the cardigan in front of the bedroom mirror, John likes what he sees. Very John indeed. He turns to look at himself from every angle. That’s when he spots Mary sitting on the bed. She is smiling.

“No need to worry, John. I’m just in your head. And I’m not here to stay.”

She hasn’t aged, still looks as he remembers her. Beautiful, warm and intelligent. Cruel and cold and dead.

“I thought I was done with imagining my dead wife.” John says, trying to stay calm. He has been nervous and excited all day. Maybe that is the reason why he is now talking to an empty room.

“You are done. Your grief is over. This is goodbye. I’m letting you go. You are his now.” Mary gets up to stand closely behind him. There’s no warmth radiating from her body. “I never stood a chance, not against him. I knew, but it became blatantly clear when I shot him. You never forgave me.”

Mary’s eyes are Rosie’s eyes and John hates to them hurt.

“I’m sorry. You deserved better.”

“I deserved what I got. I’m not a good person. I may have pretended to be, but that charade was forgotten soon enough, you know it’s true John..”

John’s hands are shaking when he picks up the brush to try and get his hair in order.

“We talked about that enough, about your guilt. I’m here to tell you I’m proud of you, John.”

John chuckles at that, but it lacks conviction. “Which means, in reality I’m trying to tell myself I should be proud.”

“You really should. You have those beautiful children and that amazing man who will never leave your side again. Be proud.”

The tears on her cheek are the same he is wiping off his own face.

“Thank you.” He says, but she is already gone.

There is a knock and Greg opens the door. “John, mate. They’re waiting for us. Are you ready?”

“Oh god, yes.” John smiles and follows him downstairs.

* * *

 

John’s hands are closed around Sherlock’s. He isn’t really listening to what the preacher is saying, because he cannot take his eyes of his man for a second. Sherlock is wearing a simple black suit and burgundy shirt, suit jacket open to accommodate for his large baby belly. He is glowing, eyes wet with tears and John is so in love.

Something bumps against his leg and pulls him from his trance. Ever since Tristan learned how to walk less than two weeks ago, he doesn’t stand still. Ever.

“Before you exchange your rings, there is something you told me you wanted to do. For you, getting married doesn’t just bring your closer together, it creates an even stronger bond between you and your beautiful children.”

Greg brings a small jewellery box and, with shaking fingers, Sherlock picks up the larger of two necklaces. “Rosamund Mary Watson, Rosie. Today your fathers want to show their love for each other, and also the love they feel for you and your little brother, Tristan Scott Watson.”

John picks up Rosie. She looks lovely in her cream coloured dress and flower crown matching the roses both her Daddy and Papa have in their first buttonhole. Sherlock carefully places the necklace around her neck. The small ring on it has ‘WH’ engraved. Rosie seems a little overwhelmed, almost shy. John kisses her hair.

Tristan seems less excited about being picked up and everyone giggles as Sherlock tries to get the necklace on him. He runs off as soon as his feet touch the ground again.

Exchanging rings with Sherlock happens in a blur of happy tears and includes a minor curse word, as Sherlock’s fingers are slightly swollen from the pregnancy and the wedding band doesn’t get on as easily as it should.

They get there in the end, and finally they are Sherlock, John, Rosie and Tristan Watson-Holmes.

* * *

****

Contractions start in the early morning hours, two days before the due date. At this point Mummy Holmes has been staying with them for almost a week, just in case they need to leave in a hurry. 

John wakes up to Sherlock slowly getting up from bed, large hand on his belly. John watches him make his way through the dark towards the bedroom. He just knows, then. They will be meeting their daughter today. 

Things progress fast from that point. Mrs. Holmes takes Rosie and Tristan the playground and John drives his husband to the hospital. They are both surprisingly calm, John’s hand on Sherlock’s as the detective breathes against another contraction. Having done this before doesn’t mean they aren’t scared, Sherlock of the pain and John of having to witness Sherlock in pain. 

They are doing just fine. Sherlock is five centimeters dilated when the doctor checks him first. 

John massages Sherlock’s feet, which seems to help, surprisingly. 

Active labour starts around twelve, and an hour later Elouise is born. 

She is placed on Sherlock’s chest, and John doesn’t even see the blood and mucus she is covered in. 

He just sees love. 

“I’m so proud of you. She’s perfect.” It’s cliche, but true. 

“She’s our version of perfection, yes. She looks very much like you.” There are so many emotions on Sherlock’s face. John is sure they are all mirrored on his one face. The detective’s lips are curled up into the smallest smile. 

Elouise’s hand wraps around John’s finger as he reaches to touch her for the first time and he just has to kiss her tiny nose. 

They ask him to cut the cord and he does, hands slightly shaking.

While they do some tests on her, the doctor also checks Sherlock. He is bleeding heavily, has torn during birth. 

John spends an hour walking up and down the hallway with Elouise, singing to calm both his daughter and himself, before he is allowed to see his husband again. 

“I need to hold her.” Sherlock reaches out for the baby, and the desperation in his voice makes john take two quick steps towards him, transferring her into his arms. 

Sherlock breaks into tears. On instinct, John wraps an arm around him as best as he can, touching his lips to Sherlock’s temple. 

“Hormones.” Sherlock mumbles and John kisses away tears. He knows, that in a moment like this, his husband doesn’t need or want words. “I carried her for nine months and then I had to be without her just now.” 

Violinist fingers trace over cheeks and eyebrows, down to the button nose and tiny rose petal of a mouth. 

“I need my babies to be here.” Sherlock says in an earnest face, and John feels guilty for not having thought about Tristan and Rosie yet. 

“Don’t you want a little peace and quiet first, love?” John brushes dark curls from the detectives forehead. 

“I want them here.” Sherlock insists. He could never say no to Sherlock Holmes. 

* * *

******  
  
**

The first days at home are difficult. Sherlock isn’t allowed to get up except for careful trips to the loo, and even with a whole knew human to discover and learn about, Sherlock gets bored. John can’t blame him. He’s been close to losing his temper more than once over the past week, mostly because being bored means Sherlock tries everything in his power to behave like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. 

Rosie is an amazing big sister. She wants to help with everything, from changing nappies to picking out outfits for Elouise. She spends hours sitting in bed next to Sherlock playing board games and reading books, so John can entertain the bundle of energy that is Tristan Scott Watson-Holmes. He also cooks and attempts cleaning the house, but miserably fails. 

In the evenings though, when for a few hours, all his loves are asleep in their huge bed and John stands in the doorway to watch them, curled up around each other, it makes things better. It’s not a cure for everything, he still is going to be tired and stressed. He has the best reason possible for it. 

* * *

****

Rosie and John have a daddy-daughter day every tuesday. He picks her up from school, they eat and talk and then John drops her of at her swin course. 

Tristan have a few hours to themselves every Friday. They mostly spend it outside, exploring the forest or going to the brook behind their house. John enjoys being in nature, running around and sometimes kicking around a ball. It reminds him of the few good days he had with his own dad. 

Elouise is too young to be away from Sherlock for long, but John takes her for a walk to the bakery every morning to give Sherlock half an hour of alone time. 

Sherlock and John go back to have their date night when Elouise is three months old and mostly sleeps through the night. The Holmes parents live about thirty minutes away and are more than happy to watch their grandchildren for a few hours. 

Most of the time, though, they spend together as a family of five. It’s chaotic, loud and John wouldn’t want it any other way. 

* * *

******  
  
**

John wakes up to Sherlock nursing Elouise. It’s still dark outside, but Sherlock has the light on his side of the bed switched on. John looks at the clock. 5:23. 

“Morning.” John leans up for a kiss to first Sherlock’s mouth, then the baby’s cheek. “Have you slept?” 

“No. Elouise did, only woke once, but I used the time for some experiments. You might have to clean up the kitchen before breakfast.” 

John rolls his eyes. “I’d rather stay in bed.” The doctor rests his head against Sherlock’s chest and watches Lou suckle for a while. It’s a little bit like meditation, very peaceful. 

His second pregnancy has caused slight swelling to Sherlock’s chest, not enough to consider it looking like female breasts, but John finds it incredible sexy. Sherlock doesn’t. He’s self-conscious about his body, like he had been after Tristan, and John tries his best to understand where that feeling is coming from. 

“Daddy.” John groans at the disturbance of peace, but in the next second sits up so hurriedly he almost knocks his head against Sherlock’s chin. 

He stares at the baby monitor on his bedside table. “Did he just…?” 

Looking back at Sherlock, he sees his husband smile. “This should not be a surprise, John. He has been practicing the syllable ‘da’ for days.”  

“This is his first … his first real word. I mean, did you hear how clear that was?” John feels all giddy, as he gets out of bed. 

“You are his favourite parent after all.” Sherlock says, but it is without venom or hurt. 

“I’m the one who gets his food. That’s the only reason.” John steps around the bed to kiss him again. 

“Daddy.” Tristan sounds more insistent by now. 

“See. Now I have one more person to boss me around.” 

John walks across the hallway to his son’s bedroom. 

“Good morning, Tris.” He switches on the light. Tristan is standing in his bed, chubby hands reaching out for John to pick him up. “Daddy.” he giggles. 

“You are in a way too good mood for this early in the morning.” John picks up the baby. 

With a smile he steps a little closer to the baby monitor. “And just as beautiful as your Papa.” 

“Very subtle.” Sherlock calls from their bedroom and John grins.

“Daddy.” Tristan grabs John’s nose. John interprets that to mean “Stop flirting and give me food. A new nappy would be nice as well.” 

* * *

****

Gladstone joins their family shortly after Lou’s first birthday. John, Rosie and Tristan pick him up at the animal shelter while Sherlock is in London for a small case Greg needs help with. They are instantly in love with the one-year-old Border Collie. The fact that he only has one eye makes him even more loveable. 

John feels his family is finally complete. He as a person feels complete. 

He is thankful for everything Sherlock Holmes has given to him. He’s most thankful for all the love. 


End file.
